Chapter 5 - The Rules of Coming Back From the Dead
Nicholas returned home the next morning.
I made him sleep in the guest room.
The most feared man in Chicago stared at me from the hallway.
“You're serious?”
“Completely.”
“Claire, that's my bedroom.”
“Our bedroom.”
“Exactly.”
“You died.”
“Temporarily.”
I stared at him.
He sighed.
“Guest room.”
“Thank you.”
He picked up his bag.
I stopped him.
“Nicholas.”
He turned.
“Three rules.”
He waited.
“No more disappearing.”
“Agreed.”
“No more deciding what I can handle.”
He hesitated.
“Nicholas.”
“Agreed.”
“And no lying.”
His expression became more serious.
“That one goes both ways.”
“Fine.”
He stepped closer.
“Then I have a question.”
“What?”
“Did you ever consider leaving Chicago?”
I looked away.
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“When?”
“January.”
“Why didn't you?”
I looked at him.
“Because leaving felt like abandoning you.”
That silenced him.
I hated seeing the guilt on his face.
But he needed to hear it.
“I had accepted a job in Seattle,” I said.
“What happened?”
“I canceled the interview.”
“Because of me.”
“Because of a grave.”
Nicholas sat down.
For once, he had no answer.
Then he said quietly, “Take the interview.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“If you still want it, take it.”
“You'd let me move?”
His face tightened.
“I don't get to ‘let’ you do anything.”
That surprised me.
He continued.
“If you want Seattle, I'll understand.”
“And us?”
Nicholas looked directly at me.
“I'll spend the rest of my life earning the right to ask you to stay.”
That was the first apology that mattered.
Not words.
Choice.
For the next three weeks, Nicholas did something nobody expected.
He stepped away.
Not from me.
From the criminal side of the Moretti empire.
He placed legitimate businesses under independent management.
He sold interests tied to men Victor had corrupted.
He cooperated through attorneys where he needed to.
Marco nearly fainted when Nicholas announced he was selling two nightclubs.
“You love those clubs.”
“I hate those clubs.”
“You spent eight million renovating one.”
“That's why I hate it.”
For the first time in years, our house became quiet.
No midnight meetings.
No armed men standing outside the kitchen.
No whispered calls disappearing behind closed doors.
Then one evening, Nicholas found me sitting at the dining table with my laptop.
“Seattle?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“When?”
“Next month.”
Something changed in his eyes.
But he smiled.
“Congratulations.”
“You're not going to ask me to stay?”
“I promised.”
I closed the laptop.
“Nicholas.”
“Yes?”
“I said the interview is next month.”
He frowned.
“I heard you.”
“I didn't say I accepted.”
He stared at me.
“Why not?”
“Because I haven't decided what I want yet.”
He slowly sat across from me.
“What do you want?”
I looked around the house.
Then at him.
“I want to meet my husband again.”
His expression softened.
“Claire—”
“No. Not the man I buried. Not the mafia boss everyone feared. You.”
He leaned forward.
“And if you don't like him?”
“Then Seattle has excellent coffee.”
He laughed.
A real laugh.
The first one I had heard since he came back.
“All right.”
I held out my hand.
“Hello. I'm Claire.”
Nicholas looked at it.
Then took it.
“Nicholas.”
“What do you do, Nicholas?”
He considered the question.
“Apparently, I'm unemployed.”
I laughed.
May you like
And for the first time since the cemetery, coming home didn't feel impossible.
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